


lay me gently

by skatzaa



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Not Really Character Death, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Reunion Sex, Reunions, Shower Sex, Smut, Temporary Character Death, There should probably be more tags but I can't think of them right now, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27657809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: Jane wakes up five years out of time.As always, Darcy is there.
Relationships: Jane Foster/Darcy Lewis
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	lay me gently

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RenLuthor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenLuthor/gifts).



> Hahahahahaha wow, I am so sorry that this is literally months late. That beind said, RennyWilson, I hope you enjoy. This was fun to write <3
> 
> I'm so far removed from the MCU fandom at this point that I'm not 100% sure how to tag this, but the idea is that it's after the Snap is undone. So past character death (ish) but everyone's back so it's totally fine. 
> 
> Title from Hozier's Work Song.

Jane wakes to golden light streaming in through the open curtains of her bedroom and, ow, fuck, it’s way too bright, she was supposed to be up at 5:30 why didn’t her alarm go off—

She gropes along her nightstand, eyes stubbornly closed against the sunlight trying to burn its way through her corneas, but her phone is missing. Jane groans and rolls onto her side, squinting, but: no phone. The glass of water she keeps beside the lamp is gone too, even though she needs to take her meds first thing in the morning.

Meds are gone too. 

What the—?

Jane sits up and regrets it  _ immediately. _ Holy  _ fuck, _ she feels like she’s been hit by an eighteen wheeler.

She tilts forward into her hands, trying to block out the light.  _ Ow. _ It’s like the worst part of a hangover rolled into a borderline-migraine and it  _ sucks. _

They didn’t even  _ do _ anything last night for her to deserve this. Sure, she stayed up too late reviewing data, but that’s the case pretty much every night, and she didn’t even stay up  _ that  _ late, all things considered. What the everlasting fuck is going on?

The pain fades to a dull ache after a while, manageable enough that she can pull her hands away from her eyes without feeling like she’s going to spontaneously combust, scientific impossibilities aside. 

Okay: phone, water, and meds are gone. They aren’t in the nightstand drawer either, when she thinks to check there. No Darcy, but that’s a given since she’s off visiting family for the week. Curtains are open, even though she absolutely never does that so the creepy couple living in the building across the alley can’t peep in on her again. She’s in the same pajamas as last night, thank goodness, and her hair is still in a messy braid, but she’s  _ over _ the covers, the sheets pulled up neatly and tucked in with military precision. That’s how  _ Darcy _ makes beds, a holdover from growing up a military brat. Jane can hardly be assed to straighten the covers most mornings, too focused on starting her day.

This has to be some sort of elaborate prank, but she can’t imagine who would’ve put in the time and effort to pull it off, let alone have  _ access _ to her apartment. Darcy is gone, and Thor, well, even if he  _ had _ been seen on this side of the planet recently, she doesn’t think he’s  _ that _ put out about their breakup to do something like this. And anyway, it had taken him a while to grasp the concept of SSRIs, but once he did he never would’ve tried to mess with her medication, no matter how upset he was with her.

Well, no use crying over spilled milk. Might as well get up and make what she can of the rest of the day.

Jane swings her legs off the bed and pushes herself upright, the lingering hangover-like symptoms rearing up to punch her in the stomach. She gags a little, nausea climbing up her throat and her mouth too dry. Another benefit of water on the nightstand, but whatever, mysterious prankster.

She stays where she is until she’s reasonably certain that her knees won’t give out on her, then hobbles her way to the door. Seriously, what happened to her? If this is some sort of stomach bug she’s going to be pissed; there’s a conference at MIT that she's supposed to be at two days from now, and a stomach bug will wreak total havoc on her travel plans.

The hallway light is off, but the kitchen overhead is on, and there’s a figure huddled at the breakfast bar. Her back is turned to her, but Jane would recognize that unruly bedhead anywhere.

“Darcy?” she says, confused and delighted all at once. “I thought you were at your parents’ for—”

Darcy swings around so fast she knocks a glass off the counter. It flies through the air and shatters on the floor, glass shards and water going everywhere.

Her eyes are wide and bloodshot in her pale face, lips parting but no sound emerging.

Jane steps forward, mindful of the glass, a hand already stretching out. “What’s wrong? Is your mom okay?”

There’s a long drawn out silence, where Darcy stares at her and Jane stares back, unsure of what’s going on, glass on the floor between them. Then:

“You’re back,” Darcy manages, barely more than a whisper. Her hands are gripping the counter behind her so tightly that her knuckles have bleached white, shoulders bunched up around her ears. 

Jane tilts her head, strands of hair that have broken free of her braid falling into her face. She bats them away in annoyance. “What? I didn’t go anywhere.”

“But you _ did,” _ Darcy says, voice cracking on the last word. She releases her iron grip on the counter to bring one hand up to her face, covering her mouth in a way Jane knows means she’s trying not to cry. “I didn’t want to believe it, but—you’re  _ back.” _

And she lurches forward, uncaring of the glass on the floor, to sweep Jane into a bone crushing hug. Jane hugs her back, squeezing as hard as Darcy is, because she has no clue what’s going on, but even still she can tell that Darcy is badly shaken.

She feels hot tears on her neck and hugs harder, letting Darcy sob herself out, whispering reassurances that seem meaningless without knowing what’s wrong. At last, Darcy pulls back and sniffs. Her eyes are red and blotchy, and her voice is scratchy when she says, “I’m so glad you’re home.”

Darcy pulls back just enough to get her hands free, and brings them up to cup Jane’s face with such tenderness that Jane swallows hard against the aching confusion that wells up within her. She shifts her hands to Darcy’s waist, and meets her eyes as calmly as she can manage. Breathes slowly and deeply, until Darcy is mimicking her, whether consciously or not, and tries to figure out what to say.

At last, she asks, “What happened?”

Hands slipping down to Jane’s shoulders, Darcy tells her, from the terrifying beginning to the heartbreakingly long middle, to the confusing, terrible, bittersweet end. Jane can’t even imagine what she would have done if it had been the other way around, and she’d been the one to wake up without Darcy, and then continue to do so for  _ five whole years, _ without a single explanation or path to fix things. 

She thinks she would have gone mad, trying to figure it out, especially without Darcy there to be her voice of reason.

Jane brings her hands up to Darcy’s face, mirroring their position earlier, and says, “I’m sorry I left,” and does what she’s wanted to do since seeing Darcy’s stricken face. She kisses her with every ounce of love she has for her, as tender and sweet as she can make it, as though that’s enough of an apology for everything.

Darcy surges against her, deepening the kiss to something wet and desperate, tongues curling around teeth and hands clutching at one another.

When they break apart, Jane is breathless and trembling, and she tells Darcy, “Come on. I haven’t showered in five years.”

Darcy laughs, and it’s wet but not tearful, so Jane takes it as a win. 

They stumble together towards the bathroom, Jane careful of the broken glass, and they help each other undress. It’s slower and clumsier than if they had waited and done it themselves, but Jane can feel some of Darcy’s desperation bleeding into herself, and she wants nothing more than to reassure her in any way she can.

The shower takes far too long to warm up, and Jane spends the endless seconds backed against the wall with Darcy pressed against her front, kissing as though they hadn’t stopped before. She tries to massage up and down Darcy’s back, because she knows how tense she gets and how she hates asking people to rub the kinks out, but she loses the train of thought like sand through her closed fist. 

Finally, the water is the temperature that they’d compromised on long ago—slightly too hot for Jane, just too cold for Darcy—and she steps into the tub first, offering a hand for Darcy to join her. Darcy laughs, but accepts. 

“Tell me what you need,” Jane says, as they stand under the spray, intertwined so that they can both feel the warmth of the water. 

In response, Darcy only kisses her again, still desperate, her hands clutching at Jane’s sides as though she’s worried that Jane will disappear if she lets go for an instant. She pushes, and Jane yields, until her back is against the shocking cold of the tile wall. She breaks the kiss with a gasp, arching into Darcy’s body to escape the chill, and Darcy slides her hands up to act as a cushion between Jane’s shoulders and the tile. 

They kiss and kiss, and Jane revels in the slick feeling of skin against skin, lips against lips. She bites Darcy’s lip and receives a moan for her troubles. She runs her hands from Darcy’s hips up her sides, careful not to tickle, and presses a thigh between hers, lets Darcy grind down on her as Jane tangles her fingers in the half wet mass of Darcy’s hair.

Heat is curling under her skin and pooling low in her belly, and it’s a relief when Darcy pulls one of her hands free. Jane’s nipples have never been very sensitive, so Darcy skips right over them to drag her hand down Jane’s back, grabbing her ass and shifting their angle so Darcy’s thigh is doing most of the work. Jane gasps into the kiss at the pressure against her clit, groaning when Darcy pulls away only moments later. 

“You want to do this?” Dacry asks, eyes dark and serious, pupils blown wide.

“Yes,” Jane says, nodding. “Do you—?”

“Let me do this for you,” Darcy tells her, and steals another kiss that burns through Jane like fire. 

Darcy pulls her second hand free from beneath Jane’s shoulders, but the tiles are warmer now against her back, and the hand gets put to better use, weaving into the remains of her braid and  _ pulling.  _

Jane drops her head back to the shower wall but Darcy doesn’t let up the pressure, and then her free hand is replacing her thigh, deft fingers going right for her clit and curling to get under the hood. She shudders, a lightning bolt tearing through her. Darcy doesn’t let up, circling and rubbing until all Jane can do is pant and moan.

She opens her eyes—when did she close them?—to find Darcy staring right at her, expression awed and desperate, like she can’t believe Jane is here and worried she’ll lose her in just the next moment. Jane presses forward, relishing the spiking ache in her scalp, to kiss her. She pulls her hands from Darcy’s hair and goes back to clutching her sides, riding Darcy’s hand as the heat builds and builds, curling up around her breasts and collarbones and cheeks. She strains forward, gasps, says, “Kiss me. Please.”

Darcy kisses her, open mouthed and messy, and Jane bears down, chasing, chasing—

Her orgasm crests over her, warmth and pleasure and oh,  _ oh, oh— _

It takes her a long moment to come down from the high. Darcy is still flush against her, pressing little kisses to her neck. Jane shifts, strokes her back, tries to say, “Here, let me—”

Darcy shakes her head against Jane’s skin, pulling her hand free of her hair. She says, “No, not yet. Just let me… I just need a second.”

Jane nods, though Darcy can’t see it, and hugs her, the now lukewarm water of the shower hitting her arms. Darcy tucks her face into the curve of Jane’s neck and clutches at her.

She’ll never understand what Darcy went through in those five years alone, not really. But she can do this—she can be there, and hold her. And when she’s ready later, Jane can return the favor and make her feel better. She’ll dry her off and take her to bed, massaging every knot out of her strained muscles, and then she’ll give Darcy all of the gentle attention she deserves.

Jane turns her head and presses a kiss to Darcy’s hair. 


End file.
